


Endure the Darkness (Because It Shows the Stars)

by rosewiththorns



Series: A Star is Born [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Becoming a Star, Detroit Red Wings, Discipline, Gen, Kneeling, Kneeling Universe, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Spanking, mentoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4628697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brett helps Pavel deal with the pain of Igor's departure and reminds him that youth isn't an excuse for failing to become a star.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endure the Darkness (Because It Shows the Stars)

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during training camp of the 2003-2004 season.

“I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the stars.”—Og Mandino 

Endure the Darkness (Because It Shows the Stars) 

If training camp—devoted to getting back to the sweat and grind of hockey without any of the thrill of victory that defined the regular season or the postseason—was hell, then the first day, which was dedicated to a barrage of fitness tests that would have rivaled anything devised by the Marines, represented the ninth circle reserved for traitors in Dante’s Inferno. At least, that was Brett’s enlightened perspective on the subject, and, as he had been in the NHL more years than his old bones wished to count, it was unlikely to change before Armageddon. 

Standing before him in his hotel room at Traverse City with a head bowed toward the crimson cherries woven into the plush carpet was a forlorn figure who looked as miserable as Brett felt, but that was no surprise, since Pavel had seemed almost as discomfited in training camp today as he had when he arrived from Russia speaking as much English as a toddler and hobbling around off the ice with his pigeon toes pointed inward to only further enhance the resemblance to a toddler. 

Given a stick and skates that first training camp, though, Pavel had managed to make magic that Merlin would have been envious of. Jaws of future Hall of Famers had dropped, and Brett, who had believed up until that moment that growing up with Bobby Hull as a father meant he had seen every trick hockey had to offer, could only gape as he realized that he had no idea what stunt Pavel would pull next. In his elements, Pavel was the personification of artistry and grace. Now it was Brett’s duty to remind Pavel that he was in his element on the Red Wings. 

That was the responsibility—and Brett was finally mature enough to not recoil from the concept entirely on a laziness principle—that Igor had charged him with before signing with the New Jersey Devils, those masters of a trap system that had to be Satan’s own brainchild. Although the conversation had transpired over a month ago, Brett could remember it as clearly as if it had unfolded an hour ago. 

While they watched the sun set on another Michigan summer day and swallowed a chilled soup with some Russian name like Botvinya that Brett could never recall or pronounce at the glass table on Igor’s stone patio, Igor had remarked in his faintly accented English, “You’ve always had time for Pav, giving him advice and coming up to him in the locker room to calm his nerves and tell him everything will be all right.” 

“He’s my playmaker.” Brett had waved his spoon matter-of-factly and ignored the specks that flung from it because they undermined his dignity. “A sniper’s gotta look after his playmaker, Iggy. It’s the oldest rule in the hockey manual.” 

“You two share a special bond.” Igor had taken a deep breath before plunging off the cliff. “He trusts you, and you understand him better than almost anybody else on the team. That’s why I wanted to ask if you would take him completely under your wing now that I won’t be here—give him all the encouragement, guidance, and discipline that he needs—until he is ready to fly?” 

“Of course.” Brett had nodded, noting internally that it was odd that he had never resented being paired with Pavel. Even the first time that Scotty Bowman had assigned Pavel to Brett’s line—uniting raw rookie with surefire Hall of Famer in a manner Brett should have deemed insulting—it hadn’t only been his conviction that he couldn’t argue with Bowman as he had Hitchcock that kept his trap nailed shut. No, it had also been a sneaking suspicion in his gut—which he relied on to make a majority of meaningful choices—-that whispered this shy, young player would be as good for him as he would be for this bashful but unfathomably talented Russian, because each had what the other lacked, being hockey halves that should make one another whole. 

“You don’t mind if he kneels for you, then?” Igor had confirmed, and Brett had been forced to stifle a smirk as it crossed his mind that Russians, contrary to stereotypes about being enigmas, could be very blunt. 

“I don’t.” Brett had flashed all his pearly-whites in his most reassuring beam. “I bet he’ll be no problem.” 

“If he has the bit between his teeth, that would be a quick way to lose money.” Igor had chuckled in warped amusement at Pavel’s deceptive tenacity once he had latched onto a cause, and then went on more seriously, “When he gets stubborn like that, just pull him over your knee and spank him. That’s what I always did.” 

“Spank him?” Brett had sputtered, figuring that something had been lost in translation. 

“Give him a series of swats on his butt.” Igor’s forehead had furrowed so that it matched the frown on his lips. “Surely you were spanked as a child.” 

“As a kid, hell yeah.” Brett had felt his cheeks blazing like wildfires. “Pav’s not really a kid anymore, though, is he?” 

“On the team he is,” Igor had insisted. “This works for him, Hullie. Trust me.” 

“Everyone needs something different when they kneel.” Brett had thrown his palms in the air as a token of surrender. “All right. Don’t worry. I won’t try to re-invent the wheel where Pav and kneeling are concerned.” 

Scratching the nape of his neck as he emerged from his reverie, Brett reclined in his lounge chair and commented in a casual tone he hoped would squelch some of the tension broadcasting like radio waves from Pavel, “Pav, I promised Igor I’d look after you, you know.” 

Still studying the carpet as if it were as worthy of contemplation as the Mona Lisa, Pavel nodded without glancing up at Brett. 

“Come and kneel for me, kid.” Brett pointed at the rug by his feet. “Right here and right now.” 

Finally gazing up at Brett with eyes that were as dark and empty as black holes, Pavel shook his head. 

“Pav.” Brett tried to infuse Pavel’s nickname with a combination of firmness and gentleness that could pry him from the clutches of the daze that appeared to have gobbled him. “Kneel for me, I said.” 

“Heard you first time,” muttered Pavel, irritation flickering across his eyes like lightning. 

“Then do as you’re told.” To convey how unimpressed he was by Pavel’s rebellion, Brett arched an eyebrow. “Kneel for me now.” 

“Don’t want to.” Pavel’s jaw clenched. 

“I don’t care what you want.” Brett folded his arms across his chest. “I care what you need, kid, and what you need to do this second is kneel for me.” 

“Need you leave me alone.” Pavel’s face was a giant scowl. 

“Stop being stubborn,” warned Brett, feeling like a thundercloud on the edge of a downpour as he grabbed Pavel’s wrists in case he had to follow Igor’s tip for dealing with an obstinate Pavel. “You won’t like the consequences.” 

“Not being stubborn.” Pavel attempted to twist out of Brett’s grip but failed to complete the maneuver. “Being right.” 

“Being disobedient,” corrected Brett wryly, hauling Pavel over his knee and taking advantage of the fact that Pavel had gone limp with shock to tug his gym shorts down to rest beneath his knee caps. Landing a volley of sharp smacks on Pavel’s rump, he continued in a voice as crisp as potato chips with all the jagged edges, “Being disrespectful, too. That displeases me, and I want you to feel just how much.” 

“What—“ Pavel’s hands flew back to shield his assaulted bottom—“you doing, Brett?” 

“Giving you a spanking for your bad attitude, kid.” Grimly, Brett snatched Pavel’s hands and pinned them out of reach of his rump with the palm that wasn’t preoccupied punishing Pavel’s backside. 

“You can’t.” Panting, Pavel struggled to get upright, and Brett pressed more forcefully on Pavel’s back, as he increased the intensity of the swats with which he was blistering Pavel’s butt. “Wouldn’t dare.” 

“I’m feeling very brave, much like you were when you sassed me and didn’t follow my orders.” As he finished this statement, Brett delivered the strongest blow yet to Pavel’s rear. 

“Enough.” Pavel aimed an onslaught of vicious kicks at Brett’s ankles. “I get point.” 

“I’ll decide when enough is enough,” admonished Brett, his fingers wrapping around the elastic of Pavel’s underwear in a motion that froze Pavel more effectively than ice water. “This is coming down if you fight me anymore. Understand?” 

“Yes.” Pavel sounded strangled. 

Once a handful of searing spanks without any resistance from Pavel made it plain that he truly was submitting to the discipline, Brett, pausing the punishment for a minute, demanded, “What’s this spanking for, Pav?” 

“Being rude.” Pavel’s voice shook like Jello. “And not kneeling when you told me to.” 

“Yep.” Brett resumed the spanking. “I’m always trying to help you turn into the star you should be. You need to appreciate that and not treat me like dirt.” 

After that, he was silent, letting that pronouncement soak in, as he maintained a steady rhythm of stinging swats until he heard soft, stifled cries from Pavel. Sensing that Pavel was on the verge of cracking into the true tears he had to shed over Igor’s departure, Brett sped up the grieving process by applying harsh attention to the bare sit-spots and thighs he had previously ignored. 

Once the stream of smacks had caused Pavel to crumble into sobs, Brett again stayed his hand, observing, “I don’t enjoy doing this, I promise you, Pav, but you need this. Know why?” 

“Because I bad.” Pavel spoke in scarcely more than a whisper. 

“You’re not bad, and I don’t want to ever hear you tell that lie again.” Brett hammered home these two stipulations with a salvo of swats. 

Then he rubbed his palm against Pavel’s quacking lower back in a soothing gesture. “Your insolent attitude was part of the reason you needed to be spanked, kid, but the bigger reason was you had to cry to begin to release your feelings about Igor leaving.” 

“Miss him.” Pavel sobbed this more than he spoke it. 

“Me too.” Brett yanked up Pavel’s shorts in the universal gesture that a spanking was over, a bit too rapidly if Pavel’s gasp as the fabric brushed against his thighs and sit-spots was any indication. “He’s in New Jersey, though, not the Andromeda Galaxy. We’ll keep in touch with him.” 

When Pavel didn’t respond, Brett added, “Off my lap. It’s time for you to kneel for me, Pav.” 

Biting his lip, Pavel slipped to the floor, where he knelt before Brett. “He and Sergei gone now. They only ones who speak my language.” 

“But they aren’t the only ones who understand and trust you.” Brett ruffled Pavel’s hair, not caring if he permanently ruined the Leave It to Beaver style. “I do and so does the rest of the team. You’re not alone. You have a whole team to support you, kid.” 

“Newspapers doubt me.” Pavel burrowed his cheek into Brett’s knee, and Brett had proof that you didn’t have to be a member of MENSA or particularly fluent in English—although Pavel was brighter than a comet and was more adept at English than he typically let on—to pick up the undercurrent in the Detroit hockey media. “Wonder who replace Sergei. Say I’m too young.” 

“You’ve got to believe in yourself even if the reporters don’t.” Brett squeezed Pavel’s slender shoulders, which seemed so slight to carry around the future of Hockeytown. “Don’t use youth as an excuse. Dominate this season. Lead this team on the ice.” 

“Don’t know if I can.” Pavel lifted his cheek from Brett’s knee to stare up at Brett with a dubious expression on his face. “Not sure I good enough.” 

“Do you trust me, huh?” Brett cupped Pavel’s chin in his palm. 

“Of course.” Pavel bobbed his head in affirmation. 

“Then trust me when I say I have faith in you, Pav, and believe in yourself.” Brett tapped Pavel on the nose, hoping that he could make all his affection for this delightfully skilled Russian apparent in his next words. “Do you want to guess who is my favorite line mate ever?” 

“Hmm.” Pavel tilted his head meditatively. “Adam Oates. No, Wayne Gretzky. He best ever in NHL.” 

“They were good.” Brett’s eyes twinkled. “Just not as good as you, kid. You’re my favorite line mate ever, because you’re the smartest player I’ve ever shared the ice with, and you have so many skills that I don’t know where you could have possibly picked them up. You’re my man, Pav, and I was stern with you right now, since I will bet my bottom dollar that you’re going to be a star, and I want you to be better than me—to work harder than me.” 

Do as I say, not as I do. Once Brett would have thought that the last refuge of the uncreative hypocrite, but now he saw it as a noble wish that a member of a younger generation might avoid some of the pitfalls of the older one. With any luck, Pavel would be wise enough to perceive his advice in that fashion…

“Thank you, Brett.” Pavel’s eyes shone like stars as they sparkled up at Brett. “For everything.”


End file.
